Reprisal
by dmnq8
Summary: Vengeance had its own queer sense of justice. A price it demanded that neither of them saw coming, or paid willingly. - Harry/Draco. Kiriban prize for Delectat. Disclaimers in my profile.


A/N: Kiriban prize for **Delectat**, who was one of the people to win my 12,345 kiriban over on DeviantArt. Yeah, I'm fulfilling these things in no particular order...

Based off book 6. This chap is short. Reads like a recap of previous events, which is exactly what it is. Probably should have labeled it as a prologue, but that seemed so ominous; as if this is going to be a very lengthy piece of fiction. I have no idea how long it _will_ be, so I'm not even going to predict. Second chap begins the real deal, as far as I'm concerned.

As usual with my HP fics, I'm inserting the story between and behind the actual events in the book.

**Delectat**, sorry for the delay. *cringe*

* * *

**Fury's Revenge**

Chapter 1

Harry could not remember ever starting term in a more furious state of mind. The annual trip to Diagon Alley usually bolstered his spirits immeasurably. It signaled his return to Hogwarts; his true home, and where he was able to mingle with others of his kind outside Ron and Hermione.

This time, after seeing Malfoy in Madam Malkin's, and then again in Borgin's and Burke's, he'd felt his return slightly marred. The real upset had come at discovering just how unwilling Ron and Hermione were to believe him about Malfoy, though. They usually always believed him.

And he was right about Malfoy. He _knew_ he was.

But try and tell the precious Prefects that, and no, all of a sudden he was seeing or imagining things. If you asked him, this was all because he'd been so wrong about Sirius being held hostage at the Ministry last term. So he'd been mistaken, so what? Was that any call to abandon him now when he knew he was right? Base treachery, was what it was.

Sometimes he hated Ron and Hermione.

Still, he was rather proud of himself. This injustice from the two people closest to him cut so deeply that he was able to keep it inside, out of sight. It mingled with the certainty that Malfoy was up to no good, somewhere deep in his chest, cold and bitter. It felt good to nurse both feelings along. They seemed to feed off each other; the more his friends' betrayal hurt, the more certain he was of Malfoy's perfidy.

-oOo-

All the while he'd sat with Luna and Neville talking on the train, and then sat through Slughorn's ridiculous invitation and avoided his questions, this dark ball of anger boiled within him. It wasn't visible on his face or in his tone, but it was there. When he'd finally escaped Slughorn and had the idea to follow Zabini back to the Slytherin car, which was sure to be holding Malfoy, he'd felt this ball beat strongly in him. He'd show those twats he was right by getting proof of Malfoy's ascension to the rank of Death Eater.

* * *

Despite how little time was left until they reached Hogwarts, he thought it was a brilliant plan. Gazing down on Malfoy from where he was curled up in the luggage rack, Harry felt that ball of fury slowly revolve with the strength of his hatred for the blond git. Then the train stopped, the compartment was emptied, and he found himself alone with Malfoy as he was bending over his trunk. Harry had time to wonder if he'd get to see some forbidden object at last, tangible proof of Malfoy's new activities- before Malfoy's wand, previously hidden by his body, suddenly pointed up at him.

"Petrificus Totalis!"

_Bloody hell! _

No warning at all, no chance to reach for his wand before he rolled out of the luggage rack and landed with a thud on the floor. He had time to take in Malfoy's gloating face, amidst the pain of his landing, and thought, _This isn't happening. This sort of thing _never_ happens to me. _

Malfoy was speaking. Some nonsense about him knowing all along that he was there. He only listened with half an ear, struggling, despite the futility of it, to move his body. He only really gave Malfoy his undivided attention when he saw him lift his foot toward his face. _He wouldn't…_

The horror of seeing the sole of Malfoy's shoe loom toward his face seemed like the perfect cap to everything leading up to this particular moment. All the discordant little occurrences this summer, the deviations from what he could recognize now as a charmed existence, seemed to all add up to this: him at the mercy of his arch enemy. Humiliated. Ridiculed. Pathetic.

The pain of his nose crunching beneath Malfoy's heel was intense, but it was nothing next to the terrifying surge his hatred and fury took. For a few moments, as Malfoy covered him with his own cloak, he was actually deaf, dumb, and blind to anything else. His surroundings briefly vanished; his vision went dark, pulsing in time to the blood pounding in his head, before it gradually returned.

Mercifully, he was unable to think. He could hear the last of the Hogwart's students leaving the train, feel his blood running over his face, and feel the dull throb of where Malfoy had stepped on his hand. Anything else was beyond him just then, somehow erased by the flash fire of rage that had swept through him moments before. It was still there, his rage, filling him with heat.

Malfoy.

If it were possible for one's heart to stop as a result of hating someone so strongly, he might well have died there under his cloak, with no one the wiser. But he lived. He breathed through shallow pants, and thought that if he did nothing else in life, he would see Malfoy dead for this. For everything. Five years of his shite was five years too many, in his opinion. Damned if he'd take a sixth.

-oOo-

So all-consuming were these thoughts that he barely reacted to the train beginning to move. Likewise, he didn't respond much to having his cloak whisked off, and his body unfrozen by a flash of red light. He obviously saw Tonks, and supposed he did speak to her when she asked him a few things, but it seemed to him that his thoughts were having trouble surfacing from the tidal wave of wrath still raging in him.

It was odd, really. As if he were somehow outside himself, he could see that on some level they were jumping from the Hogwart's Express as it moved. He could see himself holding still as Tonks fixed his nose, and then the two of them walking up the road from Hogsmeade. It was a wonder to him how the surface of his mind made conversation with her, while the core of him seethed with anger. Like he was a robot. Talking and walking on the outside, dead to everything on the inside but thoughts of Malfoy.

And then he was at the gates, with Snape stalking into view. Here at last, his mind caught up with the rest of him and everything settled back into place. His loathing for Snape, exacerbated by his unfair deduction of points, was a direct line to his hatred for Malfoy. One fed into the other, until by the time he reached the Great Hall, he felt almost numb with it.

* * *

There was food at the Gryffindor table. This, along with Ron and Hermione's interest in his appearance and whereabouts, almost succeeded in distracting him from his rage. But then he saw Malfoy re-enacting the breaking of his nose and everything else ceased to matter. He was back to that disconnected state of making conversation, while being focused completely on Malfoy and what he would do to him.

There was a moment, only a moment, where he was brought outside himself. When Snape's new position as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was announced. He was sufficiently outraged over this to forget Malfoy…but only briefly. By the time Dumbledore got down to his speech, he was over his shock.

Everyone else in the Great Hall was at their most attentive as Dumbledore launched into the danger of Voldemort being active. Harry, however, studied Malfoy, who wasn't even listening. He was magically twirling his fork in the air. Harry had time to wonder what else could be on his mind, before the speech was ended and everyone was standing to leave.

-oOo-

Ron, at least, had noticed that his mind hadn't been entirely present this evening. Harry expected nothing less from their friendship. "What really happened to your nose?" Ron asked, once they could speak without being overheard.

Harry filled him in. He even recounted the things he'd heard Malfoy saying in the Slytherin car, before he'd been discovered. "It's as good as an admission," Harry finished darkly.

Ron didn't seem to think so. Harry stood in disbelief as Ron seemed to be going for some kind of record in mulishness, and argued that neither of them had any idea what Voldemort was up to. He could very well be using Malfoy as some sort of spy inside the school, Harry said. At this point Hagrid interrupted them, but once he'd gone (with some erroneous belief that his three favorite students would be taking Care of Magical Creatures again) Harry stepped close to Ron and lowered his voice.

"I'm right about Malfoy. I don't care what you or Hermione think, _I_… _am_… _right_." So saying, he pulled his cloak out and draped it over himself in a wordless display of his intentions.

"_Harry,_" Ron pleaded, looking in the general vicinity of Harry's chest. "Dumbledore said-"

Harry left him, making his way from memory toward where he remembered the Slytherin dungeon being.


End file.
